The Distant Crown
The sky above the valley of Ashwood did not tear open; it simply forgot how to hold together. One moment, the morning mist was rolling off the river in soft, gray ribbons, and the next, the air above the blacksmith’s forge turned the color of a bruise, a deep and sickly violet that pulsed with a rhythm like a dying heart. Silas Vane stood in the mouth of his workshop, his hands still wrapped in...
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